


Take Me To Church

by lovemyway (vesper93)



Series: Speak Or Die [2]
Category: Call Me By Your Name (2017) RPF
Genre: Blow Jobs, Boot Worship, Charmie, Clothed Sex, Dom/sub Undertones, Love, M/M, Oral Sex, Porn with Feelings, Power Play, Religious Imagery & Symbolism, Sex, Smuff, Song: Take Me To Church (Hozier), Subspace
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-03
Updated: 2019-11-03
Packaged: 2021-01-21 12:00:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,715
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21299117
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vesper93/pseuds/lovemyway
Summary: ‘I’m going to take you apart, baby boy. And then, just then… Imightput you back together.’
Relationships: Timothée Chalamet/Armie Hammer
Series: Speak Or Die [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1526078
Comments: 8
Kudos: 85





	Take Me To Church

**Author's Note:**

> So, yeah... this happened. 
> 
> This was a prompt I gave myself (if that's a thing) to write a fic based on/with the feelings of Take Me To Church by Hozier. This is what occurred. There _will_ be a second part to this, but I have no idea when it's going to come out or anything, so it'll be a nice surprise when it does. It'll get written when the moment takes me. 
> 
> NSFW and read the tags - if that's not your thing, don't read. Remember: My kinks might not be your kinks, and _that's fine_, we don't all have to like the same stuff. 
> 
> Anyway... enjoy. Let me know what you think! 
> 
> V  
xxx

‘Kneel.’

He approached the other man, eyes cast down at the plush carpet as he walked the three steps to where he needed to be, before slowly dropping to his knees. His body felt like it was on autopilot a little; he couldn’t disobey even if he wanted to. He breathed in slowly, his nose only inches from Armie’s body. He knew if he raised his eyes he would see a sight that never failed to make his heart ache; Armie sitting in a chair in the suite, dressed in his suit from the evening’s event, legs relaxed, chin resting between forefinger and thumb of his right hand, whisky glass in his left.

He wanted to worship at his feet; this godlike man who allowed him the ultimate release.

He was also wearing what remained of his suit. He removed his shoes, jacket and tie, but was still wearing his shirt (unbuttoned a little at the collar), trousers, and socks. Armie hadn’t asked him to remove anymore; so he’d done as he was bid.

There was a long pause as he felt the taller man’s gaze raking over his form, taking in every inch from the top of his curly hair, to his knees embedded on the soft carpet. Armie’s stare made him preen and gave him goosebumps in the same breath. Then, as the seconds slid by, Armie moved his leg slowly, extending it towards him, before his foot came to rest on his clothed-crotch, putting a slight pressure on his half-hard cock.

He wanted to shift slightly to alleviate the pressure, but he didn’t even twitch, as Armie pressed a little harder, until he gasped, unable to help himself, Armie’s movement _just_ bordering on the edge of pain. Then Armie withdrew his foot, putting it on the floor, just in front of him. He knew what he had to do. He leaned forward until his lips touched the polished leather of Armie’s foot, kissing the cleaned and buffed surface.

‘That’s it,’ said Armie, gently encouraging him, knowing how much Timmy needed to hear his voice at times like this. Even though he wanted to do this, it was nice to hear those words, gently bolstering him as he continued, his lips moving over the soft leather to his ankle, and then the other side.

‘Down,’ commanded Armie, his voice barely raising above the volume needed for Timmy to _just_ hear him.

He shuffled backwards slightly to give himself more space, before he moved so that he was lying on his belly on the carpet; it was a little uncomfortable lying on his half-hard prick, but he didn’t make any move to complain. In those few moments Armie had also moved, so as to present him with the other foot, for the same treatment. He kissed the shoe in various places, his whole focus on the way the leather felt, tasted, and smelt throughout his senses. It was clear that these shoes had been cleaned before this use (thankfully), so the smell of freshly buffed leather was heady. He used his mouth to worship Armie’s shoes.

‘Enough,’ came Armie’s voice from above him, ‘Take them off.’

He did as he was bid; not getting up from his position on his stomach, he moved his fingers to the carefully tied laces, undoing them. He slid off one shoe, and then the other, being sure to kiss the top of Armie’s socked foot as it was revealed.

‘Now the rest.’

He knew Armie was now giving him permission to move, in order to complete the task he was given. He scrambled up onto his knees and then to his feet, before reaching out to unbutton Armie’s shirt, a soft sigh playing across his own lips as each inch of glorious skin was revealed to him. Armie was still holding his whisky glass, so he didn’t attempt to push the shirt off his shoulders and down his arms yet. Instead his fingers moved deftly to the button of Armie’s slacks, undoing them and the zip, before stepping back.

It was a scene straight out of his dreams; Armie in a state of careless dishevelment, his clothes artfully asunder as he surveyed him. Even though he was standing and Armie was seated, it was very clear who held all the power in the room, and the tension crackled between them.

‘Go ahead,’ Armie said softly, his blue eyes staring up into the green of his own.

Timmy knew exactly what he meant by this command, and sank gratefully to his knees again, hands stopping just by the waistband of Armie’s tight Dolce & Gabbana boxer shorts, asking for permission.

‘Look at me,’ said Armie, and Timmy immediately flicked his eyes upwards under his lashes. Armie held out his whisky glass and rested it on his bottom lip, causing him to open his mouth as Armie poured a mouthful of the delicious liquid inside. It was hot as it filled his mouth and travelled down his gullet, settling as a warmth inside of him. He’d never been one to pick whisky for himself, but when specifically fed to him by Armie, he would lap it up.

‘Now,’ Armie said softly, moving his hand with the glass back, and sliding the other from Timmy’s jaw to the longer curls at the back of his head, ‘Suck my cock.’

Timmy practically keened at the words as the pressure on his head forced him towards Armie’s crotch. Not that he was in anyway complaining as he made quick work of Armie’s boxers, letting his magnificent cock spring free. He was nearly completely hard, and it only took a few deft licks of Timmy’s tongue to bring him to his full hardness.

‘Stop teasing,’ Armie growled, and directed him with a sharp tug of his hair to get on with it. He relaxed his jaw after taking the head in his mouth, knowing what Armie was planning to do. And sure enough, within a few seconds he was pushing him down, forcing him to take more of his cock into his mouth, the weight of it on his tongue and pressing towards his throat. Timmy breathed heavily through his nose, suppressing his gag reflex as he’d been taught, wanting to please Armie more than anything. He used his tongue as best he could on the underside of his cock as he took more and more into his mouth and throat, his lips stretched around the base of Armie’s prick. His jaw was beginning to ache already, and drool slipped out of the side of his mouth. He knew Armie was going to wreck him, and he loved him for it. When they’d first done this, he hadn’t been able to take all of Armie’s considerable prick into his mouth; it had taken practice. Now, each time he buried Armie’s cock in his throat, he felt a surge of pride at his own achievement.

‘Incredible, my own,’ Armie whispered, his eyes half-hooded with lust as he held him at rest for a moment or two, forcing him to utterly relax as his mouth filled with spit. He was effectively warming Armie’s cock whilst he finished his whisky. He put the now empty glass down and slid the other hand into Timmy’s hair.

Timmy was languidly sucking and swallowing as Armie started to slowly pull him off, before pressing down again, dictating the rhythm that he wanted. It was slow, and Timmy whined around Armie’s prick, wanting to go faster, to get his fill as he wanted to. But Armie was in charge. He savoured each drop of precome as it spilled from the other man’s prick, his hands gripping Armie’s thighs as the older man’s hands moved his head, fucking his mouth. He just did his best to stay relaxed and pliant, sucking and licking when he could, swallowing when Armie’s enormous cock hit the back of his throat, feeling the burn and the stretch that that brought with it. He was allowed a little more room to bob his head after a moment or two, being sure to take note of the pressure on his scalp as Armie tugged, his breathing heavy and full of desire as Timmy sucked him.

Nothing outside of this mattered. There might only have been he and Armie in the entire world, connected by this unbreakable bond that they shared.

‘Have you been good, baby?’ Armie growled as Timmy licked at the underside of his head, teasing the sensitive spot, causing Armie’s grip to tighten. Timmy hummed, desperately trying to get over that _yes, yes he’d been good_. Always, for Armie.

‘Do you deserve my cum in your mouth?’

Timmy looked up at him again, desperately pleading with his eyes. _Please, please Armie. Let go_. Armie’s eyes practically glittered as he took in how he must look; mouth stretched around his prick, cheeks hollowed, drool and precome on his chin, eyes watering with just a hint of smudged eyeliner from earlier in the evening, and his luscious curls wrapped around his fingers.

But then he tugged him back, and off his cock. Timmy whined at the loss, at being denied tasting Armie’s release. He _had_ been good. He swore it.

Armie pulled him up then, by the biceps and brought him onto his lap, unperturbed by his own slick cock between them as he sought Timmy’s mouth. The taste of himself was completely irrelevant as he chased a decadent kiss, feeling Timmy going soft and pliant in his arms.

Timmy gripped Armie’s shoulders like a drowning man might grip a life raft; he was floating and he needed to hold on, lest he float away. Armie would look after him; always.

‘Get on the bed,’ murmured Armie against his mouth, his breath warm with whisky and the heat of his desire, ‘I’m going to take you apart, baby boy. And then, just then… I _might_ put you back together.’

Timmy moaned, his head tilted back for Armie to suck a bruise into the pale skin there, before he was released from his arms, and he stumbled to do Armie’s bidding. He was ready to come apart from Armie, trusting him to find the seams which he could sew together again, and make him more whole than he was before.


End file.
